To Sleep, Perchance to Dream
by SadRebel
Summary: Arthur takes Ariadne into his dream, too late has she realised that what they have is not enough. Second person perspective. Arthur/Eames.


I do not own, nor stand to benifit from using, the characters or ideas in this story. It is Arthur/Eames, although it is from the perspective of Ariadne. It's only about 800 words, one shot, dream-centric. [Pre-emptive apologies for the spelling mistakes I know are in there.]

_To sleep, perchance to dream..._

It's late in their relationship when he finally let's her into his dream. It exactly as she expected it to be: uniform, clean, symmetrical. There is no grass here, no flowers; everything cast in black, white and various shades of grey. But this does not surprise her. Perhaps it does not surprise her because she expected it, or perhaps it does not surprise her because the only other constant, standing out from the grey, isn't _her_.

In the beginning of the dream, she is only slightly unsettled but as the dream continues, this feeling grows and finally overwhelms her when she realises that inside Arthurs mind, she isn't wearing her engagement ring: _Eames is everywhere_. It is the one common feature among all the projections; that they look in some way like the Forger. Even the females have the same pouty, smirking smile.

The first time they see a projection of Eames – the real Eames – it is sitting alone outside a nondescript coffee shop. Its face lights up like the Vegas Strip when it sees Arthur, and rises to greet him, but the Point Man walks on, ignoring it. She watches as the projections face falls; she can see its heart practically crumble to dust. Arthur glances back, unseeing, and the projection melts into a puddle of water, and soaks into the sidewalk.

"And you wonder why I never bring you here." Arthur hisses over his shoulder as she runs to catch up. He tries to make it sound like Eames is only in here because the Forger gets on his nerves all the time, but she knows that he is lying. He doesn't look her in the eye.

They pass several projections of Eames, wearing different outfits that range from his usual garish shirts to understated, elegant suits; the kind Arthur says he wishes Eames would wear. They pass him in various settings; the lobbies of expansive looking hotels, alleyway cafes, High Street boutiques and despite the grey that overshadows the dream, she knows that some – if not all – of these places are real. Each time they pass a projection of Eames, it smiles warmly, and Arthur ignores it. She loses count of how many puddles they are leaving in their wake.

Eventually they stop walking. She wants to get out and she knows Arthur does too. She follows him onto to a road and they stand in the middle. His face strained just the tiniest bit, he makes to take her hand, but she hides it away in her pocket.

"Don't lie to me, Arthur," she whispers, afraid that at any moment her voice might break, "when was the last time you saw Eames?"

He doesn't answer straight away; looks ahead as a car stops just inches from them. It's expensive, silver and she knows from what she's heard that it's a representation of Arthurs' first car. A projection of Eames hauls itself out of the driver's seat. It's bedraggled, wearing cargo shorts and nothing else, a shadow of stubble across its face. It smells like the ocean.

The projection walks over to Arthur, and he doesn't back away, doesn't even move. Its runs its hand across Arthurs' neck and jaw and Arthur lets it. It brushes a thumb over Arthurs' lips and Arthur kisses it lightly, whispering "a week ago. Maybe less," and she knows that Arthur will never look at her the way he's looking at this projection of Eames as it tenderly strokes his hair.

A crack appears in the road, wide and long and the Eames projection staggers away from Arthur, clutching its chest, blood pooling at its lips to run down its chin. It stumbles as the crack widens and Arthur watches it fall into the abyss. He turns to her but she's metres away, too far for him to reach and he screams her name.

"You're supposed to love me!" She's crying now, openly, and he yells back that he does, he does.

"But you love him more!"

"I love you enough!" But both of them know it isn't.

Arthur looks at the crack, knows he can't make it, but he tries anyway. He goes back to the sidewalk, takes a running start, leaps – Arthurs' head snaps back as his chin hits the road, his neck breaks and his spine cracks and the last thing he sees as the fall kicks him awake are her cold, hating eyes.

After the dream, they don't see each other again. Eames is with Arthur when he throws their engagement rings into the sea. They go back to Arthurs' home and make love in the bed he used to share with her, like they had so many times before.

Maybe he did love her.

But he didn't love her enough.

Eames runs a thumb over Arthurs' lips and he kisses it, lightly, and remembers that you should never be afraid of your dreams…

They fall asleep to the sound of the rain.


End file.
